


Prism

by silberstreif



Series: TF Oneshots by silberstreif [7]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Drama, Gen, Humor, One Shot Collection, Politcal, Pre-War, saved from LJ
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 15:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10642263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silberstreif/pseuds/silberstreif
Summary: This is a collection of short oneshots, mostly playing before the Great War. Most of them were once written for the speedwriting challenge and are now transferred (saved) from LJ.#1: Trust betrayed (Optimus Prime, Bayverse, political drama)





	1. Trust betrayed (Optimus Prime, Bayverse, drama)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: None.  
> Universe: Trailer of the third Bayverse, written before the third movie came out.  
> Summary: Could it be, that just once humanity has gone too far?

**Trust betrayed**

  
  
Sometimes the truth hurts and destroys so much of what had been build with care over the years. Optimus Prime could feel it now all crumbling in his hands as he drove to the meeting point. The comm frequencies, which tied him to every Autobots on earth, were quiet. This, more than anything, told him how deep the betrayal ran. They all had fought and bled for the humans, had lived with them and a few of them even had even died with them.  
  
They had sacrificed the Allspark for them.  
  
And in return humanity had stayed their hand when they could have saved Cybertron. Nothing, not time or forgiveness, could ever wash away this single fact. He knew that he had to act accordingly. But maybe they could come to a good end. Somehow. Maybe not all was lost.  
  
It was time. The Autobots had arrived at the hangar of NEST. Plenty memories of this place, now all turned sour. Many humans were present, none of them spoke. Was it guilt or triumph what held their tongues?  
  
Slowly he transformed and looked at the woman in charge before him. General Charlotte Mearing was quite young for this position and entirely unafraid. She also was one of those who lied directly to his face.  
  
"Everything humans know about our planet, we have been told, was shared." He began and watched her reaction. "You lied to us."  
  
For a small moment she looked uncertain. "We wanted to tell you after we had studied it."  
  
Maybe true. Maybe not. It didn't change anything. "Still you lied and took something that was ours."  
  
Mearing took a deep breath. "Yes."  
  
He could feel the rage in his soldiers at this confession. His own feelings were no better. "You used us and our knowledge. Your actions have brought great harm to my race and my planet!" Harm, the humans could not comprehend in its vastness and dread. "Tell me, why shall we continue this farce of a partnership?"  
  
She got back her confidence and said: "If you want to leave, you can go at anytime. We don't need you."  
  
Yes. Yes, they did. He had told them about the horrors of their war, about Decepticons and weapons years beyond their understanding. And yet it seemed as if humanity choose to fight alone in their arrogance. On the streets they demanded their departure, in military they used his soldiers lives, in politics they betrayed his race. No more.  
  
"Then it ends here and now." The last hope vanished like a dream that never was. "Before we leave, you will give us all coordinates and all knowledge you have gained."  
  
This was not negotiable.  
  
"And if not?"  
  
"Can humanity really risk war with two alien armies?"  
  
Every human in the hangar looked at him in shock. The general was silent for a minute. Then she came to a conclusion and said challengingly: "Afterward you will leave earth and you will no longer interfere?"  
  
"Afterward we will no longer care about humanity, yes."  
  
On the side Lennox stood with most of the other soldiers. The male human stared at the floor, silent, his hands were clenched. He had been a true friend.  
  
Mearing waved to a tall man in a black suit who carried a big black box to them. "In there is everything we know. Every mission, every science project, every picture. Everything."  
  
He nodded, such a strange human habit. "Give it to me."  
  
A small inspection later showed that they hadn't uncovered much. A bit here, a bit there. It could have been worse. But he could not feel relieved. Optimus gazed at the humans in front of him. Of most of them he knew the name. It had been their choice.  
  
"Farewell humans." He saw again to the general. "May your god be with you from now on, because we are not."  
  
~Autobots, roll out. Prepare for space travel.~


	2. A crowded waiting room (pre-war, political, Jazz, Blaster, Reflector)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crowded waiting room as the Golden Age is waning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuity: Pre-G1  
> Characters: Jazz, Blaster, Reflector  
> Rating: PG  
> Speedwriting Prompt: Setting: A crowded waiting room (31st-March-2012: Prompt 1)  
> Warnings: none  
> Summary: A crowded waiting room as the Golden Age is waning.
> 
> Thanks for the beta work by the wonderful Starfire201.

**A crowded waiting room: Change**

  
The room was big, even for Iacon's proportions, and the lavish decorations gave it a certain meaningfulness it didn't really have. The important room was much smaller, deeper inside and only a few chosen mechs were ever allowed to enter. Still, here in this hall they all waited in an eerie silence. Over two hundred mechs from all over Cybertron had come.  
  
Jazz and Blaster were among them. They stood on the side, near one of the three big doors and looked, just as everyone else, towards the staircase. Joors went by, and someone had finally and thankfully remembered the waiting crowd and sent servants with small energon cubes around.  
  
The waiting continued.  
  
"At least, it's not a spontaneous decision," Blaster muttered quietly, thoughtful not to disturb the silence.  
  
His smaller colleague nodded. "Seems like we were wrong, and they're not all against it."  
  
"So, you think they'll agree?"  
  
"No." Jazz turned to his friend, for once in his life serious. "They can't agree without losing. And they don't want to lose."  
  
A few mechs turned around to them. On second glance, they could see it was one mech, one of those rare triplet sparks. Connected, yet apart. "I hope they'll agree. This has gone on too long."  
  
"This?" Blaster frowned. "The waiting or..."  
  
"Everything." The three faces looked grim. "Don't tell me you haven't realized it yet? Mechs with our profession can't claim that they're as blind as all the others."  
  
The crowd became, if possible, a bit more quieter. No one moved; they were all listening to the hushed words in the corner.  
The two friends shared a look. Of course they knew. They wouldn't be here otherwise.  
  
Jazz shrugged, with a sudden feeling of helplessness. "If they agree, which I don't believe they will, it doesn't mean that everything would change for the better."  
  
"And yet, there would be a chance in that change. A chance we now don't have," replied the other one.  
  
"They won't agree. Is there a point to discuss the improbable?"  
  
The triplets looked taken aback for a moment. There was no point in discussing anything about this. The decision was made in the closed-off room without them. All that was left for them was the silence and the waiting.  
But the triplets didn't seem to agree and looked at Jazz with something disturbingly close to pity.  
  
"So, you just sit down and accept. Did you ever think for yourself?" The three bodies made a step towards him. "Did you ever fight for something?"  
  
There was a challenge in those questions that carried through the hall and seemed to be directed at more than just one mech. Blaster looked uncertainly between his friend and the stranger. But his smaller friend stood his ground.  
  
"Of course, I think for myself. I'm my own mech! But senseless fighting hurts everyone in the end. We have to compromise."  
  
"You admit it. You have never fought." And slowly the triplets smiled. "And that's the reason why you don't understand the real meaning of today. But the change will come, one way or the other, and then you'll fight and understand."  
  
"Understand what exactly? Today is a simple bureaucratic decision. A big one, sure, but nothing more."  
  
But his conversation partner was already turning towards the stairs again. One of the bodies was shaking his head. "For you, maybe. For others... we'll see."  
  
And the silence resumed, the waiting continued. No one dared to speak any more, and most lost themselves in their own minds, which often led them to the small conversation they had heard. Slowly, forced through boredom, they began to review the arguments, the information they all had collected in previous vorns and thought.  
  
Nothing happened in the hall. No one moved or talked. Yet the silence seemed to grow, until it was a thin layer strung to the breaking point.  
  
Eventually, a silver-green mech appeared on those broad steps in front of the crowd. Smiling, triumphant, self-assured.  
"Citizens of Cyberton, we, the High-Council, have come to a decision. The proposal of the new governor of Kaon to change the energon tribute law has been rejected. While we feel with Kaon's citizens that suffer through the energon shortage, but we must point out that the tributes are needed elsewhere, too. May Primus be with you." Another mech stepped next to the councillor. "Governor Megatron has now the floor."  
  
The governor from Kaon was a big mech, intimidating and with a keen intellect. He easily held the stares of all the assembled mechs with his deep red optics.  
"Citizens, the proposal was rejected, but I will not stop to fighting for you. We'll find other ways if we stand together as one! Kaon and the other states starve, and if no one wants to help us, we'll have to take what we need!" The councillor looked quite shocked, but Megatron ignored him and spoke again:  
"But this is only one side of the problem. What we really need is another, better society. One where no mechs die in the streets. One where no one has to slave away, because he was built for nothing more. One where the worth of a mech is measured by his merit and nothing else. I believe in this! And will stand by it, whatever may come. Citizens, will you stand with me?"  
  
Silence. And then it was shattered as if it had never existed. The crowd clapped, a few even cheered out loud. Among them the triplets. Megatron turned around satisfied, his work was done. The councillor hurried after him, servos waving, talking. Too late. The decisions had been made.  
  
"I can't believe it, that was..." Blaster shook his head. "I mean, it was as if he were talking about revolution. He can't mean it, right?"  
  
His friend shrugged helplessly as he looked over the crowd, no longer silent, speaking among each other. The journalists were excited, the news was hot, and there was something more. A gleam in many optics he had never seen before.  
  
In front of them, the triplets turned, having taken their photos and videos, and went to the exit. One of his shoulders brushed Jazz's and a head whispered smirking:  
"You can feel it now, right?"  
  
Jazz shuddered.  
  
Change had arrived.


	3. Teacher Thundercracker (pre-war, general, TC, SS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thundercracker was a soldier, yes, but before the war he had a slightly different career...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuity: Pre-G1  
> Characters: Thundercracker, Starscream  
> Rating: PG  
> Prompt: Prompt #1 Task: Backstory. Pick a character and tell us a story from that character's life before the war.  
> Warnings: none  
> Beta: Starfire201

**Teacher** **Thundercracker**

  
It was early in the orn, but all of the young fliers had been on time for their lessons. Twenty small and eager faces either looked at him impatiently or chatted loudly among themselves. They were future Seekers and already they hated inactivity. Well, it was time that he began his lesson anyway.  
"Good flight, young seekers," Thundercracker greeted them with a smile. "Send your homework to my terminal as always. Today, we're learning about our ruler, the Emirate. Can anyone tell me his name?"

Some whispered loudly with each other, but he said nothing. If he scolded them every time, he would be hoarse by the end of the orn. Five hands went up, a few hesitatingly, a few confident. He chose a small purple seeker, who always knew the answer. Thundercracker suspected that this little one was a hidden genius.

"Icewing?"

"His name his Starfall. Emirate Starfall."

"Very good. And do you know the name of his son, too?"

"Starscream, I believe."

"You're right." He showed them holo-pictures of the last official ceremony. "This is the Emirate with his son. Starscream isn't much older than you, so if you're lucky you might get into a trine with him."

Now, the chattering rose up uncontrollably. Everyone wanted to be in Starscream's trine, and everyone was sure that he was the one who would be selected for it. He could understand their excitement, it was a great honour to be wingbrother of the Emirate. Though, Starscream... he was different. Instead of searching for his trine as any good seeker should, he was pursuing a career as a scientist. But it was admirable that he had managed to get into the Academy of Iacon as the first seeker ever. Maybe this move was an attempt by the Emirate to lessen the prejudice against their kind.

"Quiet, winglets! We have to move on." He looked sternly at them. "I'm sure all of you want this position, but you should know of the requirements." It went dead silent in the room, everyone wanted to hear this.

"First of all, you need to get a certain score at this very school. It can't be said that the wingbrother of the Emirate is stupid. And Starscream himself has set a new record for Vos." Here, let that be an incentive to study more. It had worked in all the other classes so far.

"Second, you need to be a good flier. You don't have to be the very best in aerobatics and combat, but you should be among the best in at least one discipline."

After school they would have to choose which discipline they liked more. Aerobatics were famous and admired for their beauty and represented Vos. The soldiers, on the other hand, were the true embodiment of all the lethal grace a Seeker had. Thundercracker himself had chosen combat, and then later became a teacher – a unique combination. But his pupils loved him for it.

"Third, as you know, every Seeker has a special talent given to him by Primus. These gifts can vary greatly. Some are useful like teleportation, others are merely amusing like the ability to create glowing writings in the sky. As wingbrothers of Starscream your gift should be able to help and protect him. This doesn't mean that exceptions aren't made, but a strong and unique gift helps."

He stopped for a second, looking at his pupils. A few already knew what their talents were, but most still had to find out. It was always a great surprise and he kind of missed this hoping and waiting in his youth. Of what great gifts hadn't he dreamed? He was satisfied when it turned out to be a sonic boom. It wasn't fancy, but powerful.

"Last but not least is a very simple requirement: Starscream has to like you." And this last one was the requirement they all had failed at. Starscream hadn't chosen even one wingbrother yet, claiming that he couldn't feel any connection. "Any questions?"

Nearly every hand went up. "Oh, well, let's begin in the back. Calamity, yes?"

"Eh," despite the strong name, Calamity always proved to be a bit shy. "I wanted to ask, if there is an age limit."

"No, there isn't. Theoretically Starscream can choose from every untrined seeker in Vos. You, every other student in Vos, even me. Next one, please?"

And it hurt to confess that he was still trineless, that nobody had wanted him. But he was determined that this small fact didn't rule his life. So what? He was still a very good flier, had a useful gift and a job he loved.

"How do you recognise your trine mate?"

"It's not easy. You feel comfortable around them, are always happy if you're with them and the thought that they could die is unbearable." Or at least that was what his siblings had told him. "You would kill to protect them."

"Sir," said a little light blue flier with a mouth that couldn't be stopped. "Why aren't you trined? And will you apply for the tests to be in Starscream's trine with us?"

Thundercracker froze. A part of him wanted to laugh. He, part of the trine of a future Emirate? As if. He was a normal soldier. Another part wanted to die of embarrassment. To apply with winglets vorns younger than him for a trine with a Seeker also much younger? Pit, Starscream hadn't left the Academy early he would have taught him! Finally, he pulled himself together, feeling the expectants looks of his pupils:

"It wasn't your turn to speak, Bluebreeze." But he saw by the faces of his class that they would keep asking the question until he answered. "I don't think it would be a wise move, if I applied. I'm already too old."

"But you said there isn't an age limit!" yelled Sunbridge, Bluebreeze's best friend.

"Still..."

"But you have to!" "With us, please!" his students tried to convince him. His attempts to refuse were ignored. And when even Calamity said "But sir, you have nothing to lose..." he gave up.

"Okay, okay, I'll apply with you. But only if you none of you fails the next test."

His class cheered.

Thundercracker really should have known better than to expect that they would fail the test. They were seekers and, as a consequence, inherently stubborn and willing to do nearly everything to reach their goal. Which meant that Thundercracker applied five deca-orns later to be part of the most sought after trine in Vos, while standing in a group of excited younglings doing the same. At least most passerby thought he was looking after the winglets.

~O~

The application forms were forgotten for a long time because Starscream went into space before he could visit all the applicants. When he came back, beaten, depressed and completely alone, war was on the horizon.

Thundercracker was on the flying fields training the winglets in formation flight and three dimensional fights. No longer was he a nice normal teacher, need had turned him into a strict military flight instructor.

His students saw first that they were being watched and messed up every formation, nearly colliding with each other. Annoyed, Thundercracker followed their distracted glances and discovered a three-coloured observer on the balcony of one of Vos' hightowers. Then, obviously liking all the attention, the observer waved.

What the pit...? Without hesitating, Thundercracker went into a steep fall, pulled up hard and landed directly in front of other seeker with an elegant turn. No need to be modest in front of your students. Only then, he really looked at the other seeker and nearly gaped.

Starscream. What did he want here of all places? And why the ever loving sky was he smirking?

"Sir, can I help you?" he asked nervously, hoping that the other one wouldn't take his stunt as a sign of disrespect.

Slowly, the smirk transformed into a smile and something in Thundercracker warmed. His wings twitched involuntarily and he caught Starscream's doing the same.

"Thundercracker, wasn't it? I choose you." Starscream walked past him back into the tower. "What are you waiting for? Come on, we have to find our third."

And the rest, as they say, is history.


	4. The dreams I always had (pre-war, romance, P/J)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A guest comes into a café and the waiter can't look away...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuity: Pre-G1  
> Characters: Jazz, Prowl  
> Rating: PG  
> Prompt: Prompt #2 Missed rendezvous  
> Warnings: none  
> Beta: Starfire201

**The dreams I always had**

  
The first time Jazz saw him, he was reading a data pad while sitting in the far back of the small café. His black and white appearance wasn't breathtaking, the city had more than its fair shade of Praxians, and still... something was there in his posture, or maybe in the way he held his Energon cube, that Jazz liked. Every few breems his delicate doorwings would twitch and the whole mech would search for a more comfortable position, before being motionless again. He reminded Jazz of an ancient statue of past heroes.  
  
The foreign bot was sitting there a joor, ignoring everything and Jazz who cleaned all the tables around the Praxian twice. After the time span he stood up, paid the exact amount and a small tip and left without a word.  
  
Jazz looked after him and wished he knew what the mech had been reading.  
  
The second time Jazz saw this guest, it was in the same spot only an orn later. Again he read a data pad, again he drank a mid-level Energon cube. Again Jazz watched him silently.  
  
Everything on him from his perfect polish to the quiet, confident demeanour spoke of a certain standing. Maybe he was an official and this data pad was work related? He could imagine the Praxian in such a position. It fitted the serious behaviour, the controlled movements and practical, but elegant frame.  
  
Yes, a desk job it surely was. Probably even an important one with much responsibility and lots of credits in payment.  
  
Whichever job he had, it was clear that his standing was far above Jazz's.  
  
He scrubbed the floor harder and tried to ignore as the Praxian paid and walked way.  
  
The third time he saw him was as he bumped into the Praxian at the door. Jazz was just leaving work and blocked the way by chance. Luckily, he caught himself, before falling to the floor.  
  
"Sorry," he muttered automatically and stepped aside. As he saw who was standing in front, his vents stopped.  
  
"No harm done," answered a deep and cultivated voice. "You're a waiter here, right?"  
  
So, he had seen and remembered him. Him, a lowly, unimportant waiter! "Yeah, I'm Jazz. And you're a regular."  
  
A small nod. "I wouldn't say that I'm a regular customer yet, but I enjoy the flavour of the Energon here."  
  
"It's a special flavour, yes." What to say, what to do? "I've seen you reading."  
  
He wanted to hit himself. What if he Praxian now thought he was creepy or always watching him? But he didn't need to have worried. Instead, the other one smiled and nodded:  
  
"Yes, this is one of the few quiet places were I'm able to read my novel in peace."  
  
A novel? Somehow, Jazz hadn't expected this. "What kind of novel?"  
  
"An old one. Maybe you've heard of 'The dreams Prima had'?"  
  
For the first time in his life Jazz really wished he had taken the time and became more knowledgeable about the past and the classics and everything, instead of enjoying life.  
  
"Ah, no, sorry."  
  
The Praxian's doorwing's dropped a bit. "I can only recommend it." He walked past Jazz to the door. "I wish you a good orn."  
  
The door fell shut and Jazz had the urge to scream and dance and cry. On the way home he bought he first historical drama ever.  
  
He promised himself that the next time he saw the Praxian he would ask his name.  
He swore on Primus that he would try his best to get to know the black and white mech.  
He took an oath in the name of all sparks and his future sparklings that he would dare to ask him for a date...  
  
The fourth time Jazz saw the Praxian it wasn't near the café at all, but on television.  
With horror, he watched as Megatron, their great and trusted Lord Protector, denounced his chief tactician as a traitor and demanded his immediate execution. They showed a video how the the black and white – Prowl, they called him – was bound and shackled and taken away as if he was the lowest of the low. Still, Prowl held his head high, and watched the enforcers and soldiers surrounding him with a stoic acceptance that Jazz quietly admired.  
  
The film was over far too soon and the pretty moderator talked about accusations, proofs and political unrest, but he wasn't listening. All he could see was Prowl, looking regally and calm while being led to prison and maybe death.  
The image was so wrong and bitter and beautiful that he walked around in a daze all orn, quietly mourning a small thing called "what could have been".  
  
The fifth time Jazz saw the Praxian was vorns later in the middle of a bloody battle field. He wasn't a waiter any more, but a murderer, a spy, an Autobot. Nothing was as it had been, and all had changed. He knew that and yet he hadn't expected that his Praxian had changed, too (or that he was still alive).  
  
He could only gape as he suddenly saw a black-and white Praxian fighting a group of Decepticons alone, elegant and deadly. Gone was the mech who had never left his peaceful job behind a organized desk. Here was a soldier, proud and dangerous, willing do to what had to be done.  
  
And Jazz was now experienced enough to recognize what he wanted. It was time to cash in his oaths and promises.  
  
Jumping over a corpse, he landed only an arms length next to Prowl, shooting a Decepticon that had been trying to take down the Praxian from the behind.  
  
"Hey, Prowl, long time no see." He turned, and his back was to the black and white, protecting it and being protected in turn. "What do you think, will we two make it to a rendezvous after this battle? We could talk about 'The dreams Prima had'."  
  
There was no answer for a long moment, only the screaming of the dying, the crushing of metal, roar of the weapons. And then, a low and breathless laugh.  
  
"Sure. Took you long enough to ask."


	5. There is no right or wrong (G1, humor, OP, officers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus Prime has to make a decision, but doesn't want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuity: Pre-G1  
> Characters: Optimus Prime, various officers  
> Rating: PG  
> Prompt: Prompt #3 Pinned down  
> Warnings: none  
> Beta: Starfire201

**There is no right or wrong**

_[Pinned down] = to force someone to make a decision about something_

 

"Prime," growled Prowl in a dangerously low voice. "Make a decision or I will be forced to take consequences."  
  
Optimus studied the floor, unable to look any officer into the face. "But... what if I make the wrong decision?"  
  
In the corner Ironhide snorted, while Ratchet repeated for the eight time: "There is no right or wrong here!"  
  
"Yes, there is!" Couldn't they see it? The dangers, the possible consequences?  
  
"No, there isn't." Even Jazz had lost finally his good cheer. "Optimus, simply say it or we'll vote."  
  
The other officers nodded, agreeing. Optimus however blanched. That was the nearest he had ever gotten to an open revolution! How had he let things come this far? He looked guiltily at his four trusted officers – an angry Prowl, an annoyed Jazz, an Ironhide whose last several comments had all been cynical and a Ratchet that looked far too close to throwing a wrench. Maybe, he really had to...  
  
"Optimus, attention!" Prowl's optics narrowed further. "We've been sitting here for over three joors debating all possible options and it's time for a decision. It's your duty."  
  
"I know..." He just feared the disappointed glances, the whispers behind his back,... they would all have to live centuries or, in the worst case, millennia with the consequences. "But-"  
  
"That's it!" Ironhide pushed away from the wall. "You have thirty seconds, or we'll go with Prowl's plan and do nothing."  
  
"No!" That was the worst outcome possible.  
  
"So?" Jazz leaned back in his chair. "We're waiting, mighty Prime."  
  
Ratchet tightened the grip around his wrench. "And if you try to avoid an answer again, I'm not responsible for anything. I can always plead temporary insanity after this far too long meeting!"  
  
He had no choice. Maybe he could later blame his officers?  
  
"Ten seconds, Prahm."  
  
"O-okay..." He shook. Thought about his soldiers, who trusted him and prayed that he made the right choice for them.  
  
"Maybe orange would be good for the Ark?"


	6. Once there was an assassin (G1, Meister, Jazz)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death was his most trusted and loyal companion...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuity: Pre-G1  
> Characters: OC, Meister, Jazz  
> Rating: PG  
> Prompt: Prompt #4 Master List of Prompts: 26 March Jen Titus - Oh death  
> Warnings: none  
> Beta: Starfire201

**Once there was an assassin**

 

_Oh, Death, оh Death, oh Death,_  
_Won't you spare me over till another year_

Trapped and despairing, he was unable to control his trembling even though he tried hard to be utterly quiet, to melt into the cold wall behind him and to simply disappear from this unforgiving place. Oh, how he wished, he could just run far, far away, until there was no telling in which direction this base was.

He pressed his knees against the helmet and bit down on his lip parts, stifling any cries. But he had nowhere to run to. His home was destroyed a long time ago and returning without the information would make him a nuisance, a failure... and those tended to vanish.

Without wanting to, he started to count the steps, that drew nearer and nearer. One, two, three...

 _Please,_ he pleaded with Primus and fate and everything in between, _let him turn around, let him forget about the chair, about me._

It was his first mission and of course, he had made a mistake. Infiltrating the base hadn’t been difficult, and hacking the computer had even been a bit fun. Challenging, yes, but fun. And then the guard came back and he had to hide and forgot to turn the chair into the previous position again.

_Please, let me live another orn._

The steps stopped and the mech turned around. He could have screamed in relief.

  
_But what is this, that I cant see_  
_with ice cold hands taking hold of me_

Another mission, another mistake, but he had learned. Learned that everyone made mistakes and that the only thing that counts is how you work around them.

The secretary was young, a purple Perihelixian barely out of his youngling state, and running at full speed towards the office of his councillor. Without a doubt to tell him what exactly he had uncovered in a pile of unimportant reports and lists, forgotten by all but the secretary and him. It had been by chance that the Perihelixian had read it and sealed his fate.

He calmly checked his rifle again, and took the young bot into his sight. Training let him slow down the pump and Energon circulation in his body, until no shiver or tremble would make him miss. His concentration sharpened as the young bot came closer and closer. A loving squeeze and the trigger was pulled.

For a moment the universe seemed to stop, then the young bot fell to the ground, unmoving and greying. Mission accomplished.

Without losing a moment, he stood up and started packing all his belongings as he had practised a hundred times before – but never used.

As he disappeared from the roof of the tower, he clinically thought that he should feel more. Something, anything. This was his first true assassination, and it was on an innocent, too. Instead his spark was empty and cold.

He wondered what he was turning into.

  
_When God is gone and the Devil takes hold,_  
_who will have mercy on your soul_

It was wrong. Worse than war and murder, worse than everything else – and still, he would do it. He figured it didn't make a difference any more. He had deactivated and destroyed so many lives, how could this be anything important?

He didn't hesitate for a moment, as he ripped the chest open. Really, it wasn't as if he still believed in those childish stories of good and evil, of Primus and anything else. It had been a long time since he hoped that he would (be able to) enter the Matrix.

This didn't change anything. Damned was damned, and if he was to judge then their whole planet and race was beyond hope of redemption. Sure, it was an act that was condemned by both factions, but it wasn't as if this had stopped anyone before.

Dispassionately, he watched the shaking and pleading prisoner. Maybe his uncertainty came from the stories he had heard as a sparkling. Of Unicron's heralds and their evil deeds, of which none was greater than the torture and scarring of another spark.

He took out his tools and said, without looking at the other mech, "Last chance, my friend. Tell us or..."

He left the thread unfinished. Hundred of other lives depended on how this interrogation would go and he was determined not to fail.

"Never," answered his victim, determined even though his voice shook.

"Very well." He had no choice. It had to be done.

The spark had been beautiful, swirling and dancing – after two joors it was nothing more than a scarred dull husk, but he had the information. As he killed the tortured, now insane bot, he knew that no one would show him mercy if they learned of this.

  
_Oh, Death, оh Death, oh Death,_  
_No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold_  
_Nothing satisfies me but your soul_

"Please, I beg you, have mercy."

He took a step forward and the arms dealer backed away.

"I'll give you everything you could ever want! What about credits? No more starving in the army, enough to feed until you're full..."

He took out his gun, heavy and cold it laid in his hand.

"O- okay, no money, what about information? Or I could make your enemies disappear. A bot like you surely has many enemies."

That was true. He activated his weapon and pointed it at the other one's chest.

"Please what about other things? Femmes? Servants? Or gold and silver, with that you could go to any other planet and be a rich mech..."

"Those things have no meaning for me."

"But..." The rich merchant looked fearfully at him, and slowly the realisation of his own death dawned. "I would you give anything, really anything you want..."

"Thank you." A shot roared through the room. "Your spark is quite enough."

  
_Oh, Death,_  
_Well I am Death, none can excel,_  
_I'll open the door to heaven or hell._

He was good, the very best they whispered, and known by various names on both sides. His true name however was forgotten by all but him. Few looked into his optics any more, fewer dared to talk to him. Even his own leaders feared him, rightfully so.

He preferred solitude and silence now. Always observing the life of the war from the sidelines, only coming out to deliver a swift deactivation.

His body, his mind, his emotions, they all he had been shaped to fit perfectly into his chosen profession. Faintly, he remembered that once he had been something, someone else, but it was nothing more than the wisp of a memory.

He was the perfect assassin.

  
_Oh, Death, оh Death,_  
_my name is Death and the end is here._

Everything had to end some orn and his end had finally come. The young assassin above him looked completely shocked and unbelieving that he had slayed the monster himself. The sight reminded him of his own first missions a long time ago.

Energon dripped on the floor, and his frame shuddered. Something touched with long and familiar fingers his frozen spark and he relaxed. It was so familiar and light and warm... he wanted to close his optics and simply let go.

Instead he asked, "What is your name, young one?"

The answer was quiet, barely betraying how terrified the young bot was: "Jazz."

He smiled and his face hurt, as did everything else. "Take my name." A cough and Energon splattered across his light armour. "From now on, while on a mission call yourself Meister... and at home, Jazz."

"Why?"

"So that you won't forget..." The difference between assassin and mech. Between life and death.

He had lived so long with it and next to it, that when Death finally came, it was as a friend greeting another friend. It was silent welcome, a promise of everlasting peace.

"Hey, explain it- Hey!"

He went home.


	7. The joy of flying (pre-war, humor, UM, Hoist)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, all Ultra Magnus had wanted was to travel from one city to another in peace. Instead he had the urge to strangle every passenger - but they were all already far out of his reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuity: Pre-G1  
> Characters: Ultra Magnus, Hoist, OC  
> Rating: PG  
> Prompt: Prompt #5. Setting: public transportation  
> Warnings: none  
> Beta: Starfire201

**The joy of flying**

 

One of the cheapest and fastest ways to travel from one city state to another were the high speed trains of Cybertron. Famous for stopping for no one and nothing, their speed was certainly the highest you could get without flying. In fact some claimed they were even better than fliers...

Ultra Magnus gritted his teeth as another loud cheer destroyed his concentration. "Can't those punks be a bit quieter?!"

His smaller companion chuckled. "They're young, let them have their fun."

"Young?" Ultra Mangus pointed to the rest of their empty compartment. "We're the only ones left in here!"

"Well, there were many young bots on the train."

"Sure. As if a somemech who takes thrice the time to enter the train than I is young," answered the irritated sergeant as he tried to read the last paragraph for the fourth time.

An amused smile. "Young in spirit, then."

Another sound of jubilation boomed through the metal body.

"That's it!" Magnus threw his data pads aside. "I give up. I shall do the others reports in Iacon, here I cannot."

"I'm sorry for these inconveniences, sir," said the train nervously. "I'm sure they don't mean any harm."

"Don't worry, Huuthuut," answered the smaller bot. "Your service is excellent as always."

Ultra Magnus stood up and walked to one of the windows. Catching the reprimanding look of his friend, he sighed.

"Yes, Huuthuut, it's not the train's fault that you're are an attraction to every fool out there."

Frowning, he looked out of the window and saw without any effort the other passengers flying behind the train in a strange colourful cloud, whooping and cheering and screaming in delight. They all were tied by thin ropes to the locomotive transformer who traversed the rust belt with a speed just below the sound barrier. Most passengers had bought thin sheets of metal on the station in Tarn, so that they now could get the needed uplift to enjoy the "best feeling besides interfacing" as the street vendors had claimed.

It was the new favourite pastime of seemingly everyone but Ultra Magnus. The sergeant swore if he found the mech who came up with this nonsense, ...

A small shuffling broke through his thoughts and let him turn around: "Hoist, what are you – Hoist?!"

The green bot stood at the door, a big grey sheet fastened on his back. He shrugged without any remorse.

"It's really fun. You should try it, too, Magnus. See you later!"

And with a small step Hoist was out of the train, tossed through the air and joined the merry crowd above only seconds later.

"Traitor," grunted the last mech on the train, suddenly feeling surprisingly lonely. Never before had the compartment looked so empty and so grey. His reports were silently mocking him.

"Sir?" said Huuthuut, carefully neutral. "If you wanted to... I have a sheet left."

Ultra Magnus froze as a hatch sprung open and revealed indeed the – probably – last sheet on train.

He looked up again, through the door to the crowd. It really looked like fun. And what did he had to lose? Hoist wouldn't tell any one and surely, a bit of fun wasn't forbidden...

Another cheer and the soldier donned the sheet. He had to! Or they would say he was afraid and that really wasn't becoming of a sergeant, right? Magnus stuck the magnetic rope to his hip and then, without giving himself the chance to think, he stepped outside.

And flew.


	8. Mad World (G1, dark, SS, Megatron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a mad, mad world.... and it was their fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuity: G1  
> Characters: Starscream, Megatron  
> Rating: PG  
> Prompt: Prompt #6. Mad World, Tears for Fears  
> Warnings: none  
> Beta: Starfire201

**Starscream's despair - "Mad World"**

_All around me are familiar faces_  
_Worn out places, worn out faces_  
_Bright and early for their daily races_  
_Going nowhere, going nowhere_

Another orn, another battle on this Primus forsaken planet that would never be their home. For once, Starscream was hovering quietly above their forces, doing nothing but waiting for the Autobots to attack.

This whole mission hadn't been necessary. He knew with certainty that they had more than the required resources and technology to get their Energon by renewable energies. Pit, he had developed most of the plans to do just that himself.

So why were they attacking and risking their lives?

Behind him, the other Seekers were laughing and playing and commenting on the slower ground forces. They were happy to finally get out of the confining underwater base and to fly. He had shared their joy, initially, and yet, now that saw the destroyed plant surrounded by a burning forest, he wondered.

Where were they going? His Seekers, the Decepticons and maybe even their race as a whole.

  
_And their tears are filling up their glasses_  
_No expression, no expression_  
_Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow_  
_No tomorrow, no tomorrow_

The Autobots came, fuelled as always by righteous anger and the utter conviction that they were right. In a few seconds, the landscape had turned into a battlefield of titans, who fought and damaged each other.

But rarely killed each other.

They only killed the organics on this planet, the humans and animals and trees. For the first time, he looked at the destruction they all wrought and wondered what the humans thought about it.

Were they crying for their loss?

Just as the Transformers cried in the beginning of the war for every destroyed city?

He still remembered them, the glorious cities he had lived in, fought in and ultimately destroyed or seen destroyed. The biggest names were still spoken in quiet orns and hidden corners, but small villages and bridges and houses that were vaporised without naming a battle were lost on the shores of time...

He felt the loss, but never showed it. As they all only showed the expressions expected and never the gaping hole they felt.

  
_And I find it kind of funny_  
_I find it kind of sad_  
_The dreams in which I'm dying_  
_Are the best I've ever had_

Transformers couldn't dream as they didn't sleep and still they dreamed of a better, brighter future with their optics open and their processors working. Over the course of the war these dreams changed as hope slowly dwindled.

He couldn't name the moment were his hope had quietly died and he was left the horrendous reality. Maybe after Vos? Before Earth? Somewhere between, after the first or second peace agreement failed?

He had hoped so often and sometimes even risked much on that small hope, only to be disappointed again and again. Not that he had always been innocent before the agreements had failed, no. Had the endless repeat of violence and horror really been as inevitable as it had felt then?

Starscream still had dreams of the future. Now, they were full of violence and corpses and changes in the command structure... though, there was always war and ultimately, his own death.

It shouldn't be so reassuring to know that at least one kind of ending still existed.

  
_I find it hard to tell you_  
_'Cos I find it hard to take_  
_When people run in circles_  
_It's a very, very_

_Mad World_

"Hey, Screamer, are you alright?" asked Skywarp jokingly, not expecting a serious answer.

No, he wasn't, but the lie came easily across his lip plates: "Sure, we've won, why wouldn't I be?"

There was no way Skywarp would understand that this war was only going in circles that got tighter and tighter. They all were losing. Their own planet already dead, they had come to this one and infected it with their unique brand of madness.

How long would Earth last? A thousand years? Longer? His calculations gave humanity less than a century if they were ever targeted in earnest. And sooner, or later they would be.  
Behind him, the forest burned on. He doubted that it would be extinguished it soon.

  
_Children waiting for the day they feel good_  
_Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday_  
_Made to feel the way that every child should_

With grand gestures, Megatron distributed the stolen Energon between the eager soldiers. It was the greatest recognitions they could get: Energon and a friendly word from Slagmaker himself.

"So, tell me Starscream, what were your heroic deeds in this battle?" asked his leader, after noticing that his SIC was uncharacteristically quiet.

Starscream shrugged. Heroic? As if there was a possibility to be a hero in this. "I, my lord? I shot Optimus Prime himself!"

"Really?"

"Yes!" And he launched into the tale with a fervour he didn't feel.

Around him, the other Decepticons listened with slight interest or drank their rewards. He remembered that many of them were young, built during the war, never having seen Cybertron as their home and only experiencing it as a vast battle field.

  
_Sit and listen, sit and listen_  
_Went to school and I was very nervous_  
_No one knew me, no one knew me_

He had taught a few of them, created the frames of a few others, programmed the most. In the Academies of Iacon and Vos he had learned it, but never thought he would use it once and now... He glanced at the Stunticons and couldn't look away as they were laughing and playing and being acting their age once.

Sadness tinged his smile. Pre-war they would still be learning how to read properly. Instead, they were already trained soldiers, adults in all but in spark.

He wondered if they knew that he created them, if they remembered the love and care he had put into every code line and every frame. Sure, he had help, but in the end they were his.

Megatron turned to other soldiers to speak and he took an Energon cube. Maybe it was time to find out...

"Hey, Dead End, happy that you survived today's battle?"

  
_Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson_  
_Look right through me, look right through me_

Megatron hadn't been delighted with his decision. Convinced that Starscream was planning a new way to kill him, the Decepticon leader was punishing the Seeker in front of everyone. He pleaded and cried, more a reflex than a belief that it would help.

Most Decepticons cheered Megatron on, blinded by Starscream's reputation. But in the corner stood his trine, grimly watching as they never enjoyed his pain and in the crowd his combiner team, confused as they knew the truth – Starscream had asked them what their hobbies were. Nothing more.

They gave him strength and once again he pleaded for mercy, tried to explain himself and for once told the truth.

Megatron didn't stop and didn't listen. It was as if he looked right through the Seeker at something far different... Maybe, he was seeing the war for what it was and despaired as much as his SIC.


	9. The other kind of sighseeing (G1, humor, Devastator, Reflector, Hound, Mirage)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every debt has to be paid, and Devastator is owing to Reflector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuity: G1  
> Characters: Devastator, Reflector, Hound, Mirage  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Prompt: Prompt #6 Photo (Sphinx)  
> Warnings: erotic  
> Beta: No.

**The other kind of Sightseeing**

  
  
Critically, Scrapper eyed his surroundings, the old heaps of stones and the ever shifting sand that kept getting into every crack his frame had. The whole area was completely unsuited to ever build anything it. He hated it.  
"And it has to be here?"

"Yes."

Scrapper sighed, knowing that this time his team had to do as told. "I don't see what makes this place special."

One Reflector looked at him, the other two didn't stop preparing the lights. "I thought you're an artist?"

"I'm a designer," corrected Scrapper. And he was good at it, too. Still, he couldn't see why of all ugly places on earth, Reflector had to choose this one. Here weren't only too much sand to not long for a deep maintenance and those strange heaps, but so many humans that not stepping on them was a small miracle. At least Bonecrusher was taking care of the last problem.

"Figures, that you don't understand. You create, but I find beauty. I always look for something special and worthwhile and these pyramids are it." With an loving gleam in the optics he looked back to the stone heaps. "They are needed to make the shoot perfect."

Hook who sat on the nearest heap snorted. "Perfect? You call this decrepit ruin perfect?! Pit, if I took a handful slag and threw it, it would look better than these skewed and senseless buildings of an delusional architect who probably had never even heard of a proper corner..."

Reflector had known Hook's rants for millennia and did the only right thing – he ignored the perfectionist.

"Scrapper!" yelled a too excited voice. Reflector ignored it, too, but Scrapper couldn't. Slag whoever gave him the job of a teamleader. He turned and as expected Scavenger was running into his direction clutching – something.

"What is that?"

"I don't know." Scavenger smiled. "But look, it has this strange shape, it's not natural!"

Only vorns of getting used to his teammate kept Scrapper from saying something regrettable. "It's a stone."

"Yes, yes, but it's a special stone!"

No, it wasn't. It was just a ridiculous big stone with a ridiculous shape that reminded him of this silly thing organics had in their faces.

"Do you see this and this, I'm sure that humans have formed it deliberately thousands of years ago!"

"Great." Scrapper felt like screaming that no one cared about a stupid stone. "Now put it away and tell me what the others are doing."

Scavenger smiled, happy that Scrapper hadn't taken away his new treasure. "Bonecrusher is chasing humans. Long Haul doesn't want to transform and still stands on the parking site and Mixmaster... is doing something with the sand."

Something that was probably a very complex and dangerous experiment with a very good chance at exploding. But at least the three weren't doing something really stupid like that one time on Rusco, a jungle planet that afterwards was declared a desert planet.

"I'm ready!" Reflector walked to Scrapper. "I hope you all visited the wash racks?"

Scrapper gritted his teeth. "Yes." As the annoying camera instructed. "Which heap is it?"

Reflector pointed towards the most strangely shaped one. Of course, it simply couldn't be one of the more normal ones.

"It's the Sphinx, truly unique and -"

"I don't care." He commed his team. "After six shots the debt is paid, right?"

Reflector smiled. "Right. One shot for each of your team."

It was fair payment for Reflector's help with the covering of the Constructicon's last experiment gone wrong. Megatron had been furious as he discovered the destruction of base 77. With Reflector's forged photos they had managed to blame the Autobots and saved their heads.

The loud sound of an engine was the first sign that the others came to them. Bonecrusher had a big grin on his face, and the designer felt a stab of annoyance as he saw all the red smeared across the previously perfect paintjob. The clashing colours were an insult to his aesthetics.

Reflector thought the same and between them, they forced Bonecrusher to clean himself up.

Long Haul was still in his truck form, sulking that he had to be on the photo. After over four hundred vorns of avoiding even the smallest photo, this was a nightmare for him. That someone felt worse than himself about this whole thing was the only thing that gave Scrapper positive thoughts.

Mixmaster on the other hand was now quietly chatting with Scavenger, both looking far too interested at this strange stone. And wasn't Mixmaster looking surprisingly bulky? Hopefully, he hadn't decided that in taking tons of this sand was a great idea... on a second thought, hopefully it was just sand he had loaded and not something acidic or explosive or...

Scrapper felt a headache coming.

"I still think that all this is beneath me," complained Hook.

Scrapper didn't bestow him with an answer. "Everyone ready? Then let's get over with this." And the familiar sequence started. "Devastator combine!"

 _At the very least,_ was his last thought, _no one but Reflector will witness our humiliation._

 

_~O~_

 

Hound knew that he was gaping, but he thought that the circumstances gave more than adequate reason to do this.

"Are my optics malfunctioning?"

Mirage slowly, disbelievingly shook his head: "If you too see Devastator riding on the Sphinx, while Reflector is making photos.... then no, they're working perfectly."

"But..." Hound searched for words to explain the bizarre scene, but couldn't find any. Especially as Reflector shouted instructions and Devastator bend forward and gave the camera such a coy look that even the Autobots shuddered.

"Optimus to troop two. Do you need reinforcements?"

"Eh..." Hound couldn't turn his optics away. "I don't thinks so..." Was Devastator really bending his back and lifting a leg?

"No? Witnesses claim that Bonecrusher was sighted."

"Well... yes. He's here."

Another photo, another instruction. Devastator turned on his back and opened – holy Primus! He hadn't even known that combiners had such equipment! Were his vents working faster?

"Hound? Is everything alright?" Good old Prime, he actually sounded worried.

"Yes, yes."

Reflector didn't seem satisfied and went over to put the legs into the right places, on both sides of the Sphinx. Devastator was surprisingly limber. Those sure hands around the gigantic ankles, small Reflector commanding a titan... Oh, he could feel himself growing hot.

Okay, Hound, concentrate on your job! You're a soldier, act like one. He gulped.

"Bonecrusher is here with his team and Reflector. But they're not doing anything... dangerous." Just something very risqué and erotic.

"Really?"

"Yes. They're..." What do you call this? "Sightseeing. Together."

"Good to hear." And Prime sounded so relieved that Hound felt guilty. "Please observe further and inform us if anything changes."

"I will. Hound out."

Reflector was adjusting the head and then stepping away. The image of Devastator was everything but innocent. Hound never thought that the combiner could look so ready and willingly to be ravished.

"So, we're under orders to observe." There was a slight smile in Mirage's voice. "What grave duty we have."

"Terrible boring in this case." Hound grinned as the combiner tried another position. "What do you think we'll have to pay do get these photos?"

"Too much probably. But I'm sure Reflector will trade."


	10. The spark of the sky (pre-war, SS, SF)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clouds are the spark of the sky... so, what if there aren't any?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuity: G1, pre-war  
> Characters: Starscream, Skyfire  
> Rating: PG  
> Prompt: Prompt #1 - Clouds  
> Warnings: none  
> Beta: none

_**The spark of the sky** _

  
  
Of course he knew everything about them. What they were, the many many variants they came in, how wind, gravity, density or even the different kinds of dust and pollution affected them. He had studied them for nearly a vorn, always amazed that they were seemingly so  very different from planet to planet. If they existed on said planet.  
  
Some harboured life, some were a central part to their planet's system, be it organic or not, some simply were. Some came in only one colour, most common white or yellow, but that was by no means a rule as some showed every colour that existed and some were invisible but to the most sophisticated scanners.  
  
Some floated high, so very high, in the sky that they touched the cold space and were always raining and creating their own always changing system. Some were hugging the dirt like a grounder, too dense to leave it and hiding whole worlds behind their veil.  
  
Yes, he had studied them, he knew them.  
  
So, he really should know better that to stare like a besotted sparkling at the white, fluffy, floating cloud in front of him. But she (and the cloud was a she, no question about it) was beautiful, ethereal, and a part of his spark lost himself to the miracle of such a simple, and though so very very complex thing.  
  
A chuckle from Skyfire across the commlines woke him. "Starscream? Have you finished your very very thorough scans of the cloud?"  
  
"Those scans are necessary! We have to document everything."  
  
"But you're finished, right? Then we can finally start the fun part – flying through it!"  
  
The shuttle sped into the white cloud with surprising speed and delighted laughter. Starscream blinked, than snorted and followed him.  
  
And as the cloud softly caressed his wings with lovingly cool touches, he felt himself relax and starting to smile. This was what he was made for, this dance with the wind and cloud and the rain. How had he missed this during all his studies? How come that he hadn't even longed for this feeling of joy and peace before?  
  
He felt a pang of sadness as he remembered the cold cloudless sky on Cybertron that hadn't seen a change in many hundred vorns, since long before of Starscream's creation. He had loved the freedom of flying in it, but now... he suddenly understood that Cybertron's sky was missing its living, ever changing spark and had become empty.  
  
He wondered, what system and cycle had vanished with the clouds or if they simply had been. He wondered if they had been white or red or green. He wondered, if turning the sky's essence into the energon that fuelled the Golden Age, had been worth it.  
  
Then he turned, twisted around and started to play with the cloud and the wind and Skyfire, forgetting everything else and just being free in the gentle embrace of the sky.  
  
(As he flew again through the lifeless and bleak sky on Cybertron, he mourned. The emptiness that once promised freedom now only held the whispers of a dying planet.)


	11. Berserker (G1, Prowl, Megatron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron finds himself fighting the calm and collected tactician, and tries to break the other's selfcontrol...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for pjlover666, when we were both suffering through exams and a hot summer.  
> Beta: Starfire201 - thank you!

_**Berserker** _

 

Both sides fought determinedly and ruthlessly. No one wanted to be the first one to call retreat, to give up, because they all knew what was at stake: Jazz, the infiltrator, the TIC of the Autobot army, the bot with the secrets just how to break the Autobot army apart. His capture could bring a turn in the tides of this endless war, maybe even an end. And so the Decepticons did everything to prevent a timely rescue, while the Autobots desperately tried to fight through a wall of metal and will.

Megatron was, as proper of a leader of the Decepticons, at the very frontline of the battle and facing off with the SIC, Prowl, who usually was far behind and only giving tactical advice. It was a grave sign of how bad things were that he was here now, preparing to fight with the Slagmaker himself.

"And where is Optimus, your heroic leader?" smirked Megatron. "Surely he can't be happy that you're fighting me in his stead?"

"He is occupied with Bruticus, as you well know." And it was true. The gigantic mech was only stopped by Prime from destroying the human village a few kilometres further south.

"Do I?" laughed Megatron and attacked, but the SIC stepped quickly aside. "At least he fights. This is more than can be said from your TIC... I have heard you are friends. Are you really? All those Autobots so worried and angry and here you are, his so-called best friend, the only one calm and collected on the whole battlefield!"

Prowl's faceplates tightened, but he didn't answer as he blocked a new attack.

"Do you care about him at all? Or are you a traitor deep within? You know, I have always a position open for bots such as you..."

"I'll never betray Prime," came the sharp reply, together with a few steps back to avoid a lunge.

"Sure, you're saying that now. But what if I make the deal sweeter?" Prowl vented harshly and Megatron laughed. "What about I give you Jazz as a plaything? He would be safe - after the interrogation of course - and no one else of my mechs would have a go at him."

The Praxian's doorwings trembled, but he said nothing.

"What, isn't it enough? You wouldn't save your friend? ... Ah, I see, you would like it more to see him humiliated? On his hands and knees, serving you and every mech that walks past?" mocked Megatron, walking a small circle around the Praxian, who was turning with him, trying to keep him in sight. "Believe me, that will happen. I've heard from bases he's infiltrated, that he's so very good in the berth... a real whore, wouldn't you agree? Surely you already had the pleasure, too? Or did Prime keep him for himself?"

"Be quiet," growled Prowl, his optics glowing, armour vibrating from barely repressed emotions.

"Why? Isn't it the truth? We'll just interrogate him a bit, and then put him into his rightful place – on his knees, between the thighs of my soldiers, moaning -"

Prowl attacked with a scream full of rage. Megatron, not having anticipated this, was too late to avoid the steel grip around his arm and only felt a pull. Unable to process it, he had to watch as his whole arm was torn from its body by a very, very angry Praxian, whose faceplates had lost all reason and sanity. Energon squirted from the wound, pain sensors awoke to full power and long buried survival programs took over. Megatron instinctively jerked to get away, stumbled back and saw the previously angry glowing optics slowly turning white. An uneasy cold feeling seized his spark, one he at first didn't even recognize: Fear.

Stories from a long time ago, whispered in the darkest of orns, swamped his processor. White optics. Unnatural strength. Calm demeanour outside of the battlefield. Merciless, horrible rage, that couldn't be cooled, until everything was drowning in rivers of pink Energon. Berserker.

The SIC was a berserker.

He turned and fled to the sky, where an Autobot couldn't follow, screaming the only correct thing: "Retreat!"

After a brief hesitation his army obeyed, while beneath them a monster roared in anger and promise of destruction.

Megatron shuddered.

~O~

  
Optimus Prime was the first to reach his SIC. All had heard the scream, but none was sure who it had been, and he was worried, because Prowl didn't answer the comlines. At least Jazz was safe, as the retreat thinned the Decepticon lines enough that a rescue was made possible.

"Prowl? Are you all right?" asked Optimus anxiously as he stepped behind his trusted friend. "Prowl?"

The tactician turned and his light-blue optics rested on his leader for a long moment, then he nodded.

"Here." With a careless movement, he threw the dripping arm against Optimus' breastplate. "The next time you will kill him, or I do it. Understood?"

Optimus could only nod, as he stared with wide optics at the token, the greying body part of his archenemy. So muchfor the rumour that Prowl was rubbish on the battlefield.


End file.
